Rememberance Day
by bethamphetamine
Summary: Response to challenge at Livejournal to include Spike and Lynda stuck somewhere together, Colin at a war memorial, the big fan on Lynda's bedroom wall, any guest star or random extra and a strawberry milkshake.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

"Strawberry!"

"Definitely!"

The group of girls giggled as Kenny walked by. He didn't pay them any attention, groups of girls were always giggling and Kenny was far too modest to assume it would be anything to do with him.

Another girl appeared at his side, definitely not giggling.

"Kenny, hurry up. We've got so much work to do on this special," said the girl before striding off ahead.

"Right," he muttered. The day had ended – well, the school day at least – and now it was time to get down to some real work on the Junior Gazette. A special edition dedicated to Rememberance Day was being planned, which involved a lot of research and extra interviews. Hastening his stride to catch up with Lynda, the two walked out of the school together and towards the Junior Gazette offices.

Another gang of girls were loitering by the school gates and as they passed by, Kenny heard whispered discussion and the very definite "Strawberry!" word, again followed by giggling.

"Did you hear that?" he asked Lynda.

"Hear what?" came the slightly irritated reply.

Kenny frowned. "Nothing."

"Have you interviewed your grandfather yet?" Lynda asked, mind as ever firmly focused on the task at hand.

"Huh? Er, no."

"Why not?"

"Lynda, he's been in hospital. He's only just come out. I thought I'd let him unpack his pyjamas before I went around there waving my notebook in his face."

"You could have gone to the hospital. I'm sure he wouldn't have minded. What else is he going to do in there, sit and look at the person opposite? Hospitals are horrible places. It would have been the least you could do to go and visit him."

"Lynda . . ." said Kenny, warningly. "I did visit him. Nightly. He was on a respirator. Bit hard to reminisce over old war stories when your face has a plastic breathing mask on it."

"All right, fine," huffed Lynda. "Just see that you get that interview. And don't forget to ask him if he has any old stuff we can use to print in the paper – letters, photos, that kind of thing."

"Got it," replied Kenny. "And he's fine now, by the way. Thanks for asking. I'll pass your good wishes onto him."

"This is going to be a big thing for us, Kenny," said Lynda, as if he'd never spoken. "A big special – we haven't done anything since the expose on the shops that sold glue to minors. How's your girlfriend by the way?"

"Lynda, I must have told you a dozen times. She's not my girlfriend anymore. She dumped me."

"Oh, right, I remember now. Pity. We could have used someone in Macton."

Kenny stared incredulously at the girl who was purported to be his best friend.

"Kenny, what are you staring at?"

"I'm not sure," muttered Kenny darkly as he yanked open the door to the Junior Gazette building and stalked inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Hey, Lynda!" A figure plonked themselves onto Lynda's desk and since there was only one American in the newsroom, Lynda rightly guessed the owner of the voice without looking up from her work.

"Not now, Spike," she said, automatically.

"Okay!" Spike sprung up from the desk and made to leave.

"Where are you going?" Lynda asked in surprise. Spike was never this easy to get rid of.

"You said 'not now'. So I figured you didn't want to hear about the American war veteran who's visiting Norbridge this week and is happy to be interviewed. No problem. I'll tell him we're busy." Spike leaned over Kenny's desk and picked up the phone. Lynda pressed the receiver button down before he could dial.

"Okay, Spike, you win. Tell me about this American. Who is he?"

Spike flopped into Kenny's chair which fortunately was not occupied by Kenny at the time and swung his feet up onto the desk.

"He's an uncle of mine," he replied.

"Not Crazy Eddie, I hope?" asked Lynda, half-jokingly. Spike chuckled.

"No, not Crazy Eddie. Uncle Charles. Actually, he's my great uncle. Dad's father's brother, if you care. He fought in the Battle of Britain – fighter pilot. Pretty cool, huh?"

"I'll say!" replied Lynda, eyes gleaming with the possibilities. "And he's happy to be interviewed?"

"Sure," replied Spike.

"Great! Well done, Spike. Seriously."

Spike basked in the rare light of Lynda's praise. "You can come meet him too, if you want. He won't mind. And he's an interesting guy."

Lynda considered. "Sure, why not."

"Great. I'll get it organised." Spike pushed himself out of Kenny's chair and sauntered over to his desk. Lynda watched him for longer than was strictly necessary before returning to her work.

Kenny, meanwhile, was handing out duty rosters for the upcoming week.

"There you go, Tiddler," he said.

"Thanks, Kenny," she replied. As he turned to pass one over to Kevin, he heard her turn to Kate and whisper "Strawberry!"

"That's it!" Kenny turned back to Tiddler and slapped the rest of the duty rosters down on her desk. This action would have looked aggressive if performed by anyone else, but only Kenny could make it look mildly fed-up. Still, Tiddler raised her eyebrows in surprise, and it caught the attention of people in the immediate area.

"Err, sorry, Tids," Kenny gathered up the duty rosters again, feeling a little embarrassed. "But I keep hearing this 'Strawberry' everywhere I go. Mostly from younger girls. What's it all about?"

"Kenny, it's nothing bad," said Tiddler. "In fact, it's really quite complimentary."

"Really? I can't say being compared to something red and spotty is very complimentary," replied Kenny.

"It's just the latest craze at school," Tiddler explained. "It's comparing boys to milkshakes."

"Milkshakes?" Kenny was extremely confused. He never pretended to understand girls, particularly younger ones, but this was particularly baffling.

"It's just a silly girl thing to describe the boys. A vanilla milkshake means a guy is nice but maybe a bit boring. A chocolate milkshake is a bit naughty and desirable. You get the picture."

"And what's strawberry?" asked Kenny, warily.

"Sweet," smiled Tiddler. "Very sweet."

Kenny mulled over this for a moment.

"What's Frazz?" he asked.

"Chocolate. Definitely."

"And Kevin?"

"Vanilla."

"And I suppose Spike's chocolate too?"

"Oh, no," Tiddler grinned. "Spike's one of those posh exotic milkshakes like a Mars Bar."

"Of course," replied Kenny. Looking up, he nodded in the direction of the CM Enterprises office. "And what about Colin?"

Tiddler exploded into giggles. "Banana!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

There was a knock at Lynda's bedroom door.

"Come in," she said around the pencil clamped between her teeth.

The door opened and Spike's tousled head appeared around it.

"Hi, Lynda. Your mom said it was okay to come up?"

"Sure, come in," said Lynda distractedly. "Sorry, I'm just getting these notes down."

"No rush," said Spike, coming into the room. "I told him we'd be there by 6.30, we've got plenty of time. And it's nice to be invited in, for a change."

He made to sit on the bed next to Lynda, who simply clicked her fingers and pointed to the chair by the desk.

"Right." Spike took the chair as directed and looked around the room as Lynda scribbled in her notebook.

"Hey, this has changed since I was last in here," he observed.

"What has?" asked Lynda distractedly.

"That fan there, on your wall. Wasn't there before."

Lynda looked up in surprise. "No, it wasn't. My dad brought it home for me from Indonesia."

"Yeah?" Spike looked interested. "What was he doing over there?"

"He's in the army. Was stationed over there for a while. Peace-keeping."

"Your Dad's in the army?" Spike asked incredulously.

"Yes. Haven't I mentioned it?" asked Lynda.

"No, you haven't." Spike was fascinated. "So is this the reason for the whole Rememberance Day special? Is he going to be involved?"

"Maybe. If he's home in time," said Lynda shortly and returned to her notes.

Spike sensed it might have been a sensitive issue but his mouth couldn't help itself.

"So he's away a lot then, huh?"

Lynda nodded without looking up.

"Do you miss him?"

"Of course I do. What a stupid question. You really are thick sometimes, Thomson." She gathered up her notebooks and strode to the door. "Are we going then?"

"Sure, sure," Spike leapt up and followed her out of the room and down the stairs.

"Bye, Mum," Lynda called on her way out.

"Bye, love. Bye, Spike," came the reply from the living room.

"Bye, Mrs Day," replied Spike. Passing through the hall, he noticed a picture of a guy in military uniform on the wall.

"That must be Lynda's Dad," he thought to himself and as Lynda fussed about putting her jacket on and collecting her keys, he surreptitiouslystudied the picture. He could see where Lynda got her eyes and determined chin from, not to mention her military-like bearing.

"Spike! Come on!"

He couldn't help himself and snapped a brisk salute. "Yes, ma'am!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"No, I understand, Mr Vader. Yes, you have our full sympathies. People really should be alerted to the problem but we have our next issue dedicated to – yes, we do appreciate the importance of it. Honestly. And it is serious. We just aren't able to cover – no, that's fine. Perhaps I could suggest 'News of The World' or one of the other – yes, I think your story is probably more suited to their format. We're a junior newspaper and I think your story is aimed at an older demographic – certainly, Mr Vader. No problem at all. Take care. Bye now."

Kenny hung up the phone and Sam, who was propped up on his desk listening, exploded into laughter.

"Sam, it's not funny. The man has a serious condition."

"It sounds like he has several," replied Sam. "What was it this week? UFOs? Poisoned water supply? Lynda Day has an evil – or should I say, eviller – twin?"

"No, no. It was a very serious issue he raised," said Kenny, trying to keep a straight face.

"Well, what was it?" she asked.

"Er, he believes – very strongly, mind you – that the Prime Minister has been assassinated and replaced with a look-alike who intends to slowly introduce communism to Britain."

Sam doubled over with laughter.

"Come on, Sam, it's not that . . ." Kenny failed utterly at this point in trying not to laugh and joined her.

"You two must be right on top of everything if you've got time to laugh and joke," said Lynda. "Sam, how's the centre spread coming? And Kenny, have you interviewed your grandfather yet?"

"I was just off to do it now, Boss," replied Kenny as Sam shot Lynda a dark look and slid off to the graphics department.

"Well, don't let Sam keep you," said Lynda. Kenny rolled his eyes and gathered his stuff from his desk. Sam waved him off flirtily with her scarf from the graphics room window and he grinned and gave her a salute in return. She clutched her scarf to her chest and pretended to swoon. Kenny blushed and left the newsroom. What was it about Sam? Was she just pretending to find something interesting about Kenny The Strawberry Milkshake?

This thought kept him occupied until he reached Lancress Drive and his grandfather's house. Sean Philips was a remarkably active old gentleman, his recent stay in hospital having been from over-exerting himself during his long-running DIY home renovations. Kenny knocked on the door and let himself in, the floorboard in front of the door creaking and bending ominiously.

"We'll have to fix those floorboards soon, Grandad," he said, coming into the kitchen, where he found his grandfather pouring a cup of tea.

"All in good time, Kenny, lad, all in good time," came the lilting Irish reply. "You'll be joining me in a cup?"

"Go on, then," Kenny nodded as he set his notebook on the table. The steaming mug was placed in front of him and his Grandfather took a chair opposite and sipped at his own mug appreciatively.

"Ahh, good drop. They don't make a decent cup in hospital, I can tell you that. Muck, it was." He shook his head in disgust. "A person's laid up and pining for a decent cup of tea and gets dirty dishwater instead. There ought to be a law."

Kenny grinned. "Now, about this interview, Grandad. Are you ready to begin?"

"I am, lad," replied the old man. "I even have a box of things like you asked for. Photos and the like." He tapped the ancient biscuit tin on the table. "You can use what you want."

"Brilliant. Thanks, Grandad." Kenny opened the tin and sorted randomly through the photos, letters and other miscellany inside. Near the bottom was a picture of a pretty lady. Kenny held it up.

"This isn't Grandma, is it?" he asked. Sean looked at it briefly.

"No. Don't think it even belonged to me. Must have been one of the other lads and got mixed up with my things." He tossed it back into the box. "Now, are you going to be asking some questions?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"So, Lynda," said Spike. "What do you want me to do with these interview notes from Uncle Charles?"

Lynda thought. "Give them to Sarah and – no, wait a minute." She considered. "How would you like to write the feature?"

"Me?" Spike looked surprised.

"Well, he's your relative. It might be a good angle, you know, a family perspective, handing down stories, that kind of thing. I think it could work. Sarah can give you a hand, if you like."

"Couldn't you?"

"Couldn't I what?"

"Couldn't you give me a hand? I'm not trying anything . . ." he said hastily, seeing Lynda's face change to a frown and her mouth open ". . . but you were there and I think you'd be a better help to me."

Lynda thought. "Fair enough. I'll help you. You write a rough draft and we'll go through it together later, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Lynda."

A loud crash sounded and they both looked towards the obvious source, which was Colin's office. Colin was picking up a tin that had dropped to the ground and hastily stuffing coins back into it.

"What's he up to?" asked Spike.

"I don't know," replied Lynda, as Colin finished retrieving all the coins, picked up a flat white box he had also dropped and slunk out of the newsroom. "He looks even shiftier than usual. You'd better follow him. That had better not be Junior Gazette money. If it is, I give you full permission to extract it back by any means possible."

"You got it, Boss."

Spike followed Colin at a safe distance from the newsroom across town. Colin didn't stop along the way but walked at a determined pace until reaching the Norbridge War Memorial.

"What is he up to?" asked Spike to himself.

Colin opened the box which folded out to be a tray with plastic poppies in it and placed the tin on top. Being so close to Rememberance Day, there were plenty of people around and almost immediately, they approached him and began buying poppies.

"I don't believe this!" Spike waited until Colin was alone and then collared him.

"Spike!" squeaked Colin.

"Colin, you'd done some pretty low things in your time, I'm betting, but this – this is really disgusting."

"What are you talking about?" Colin was struggling to talk normally with Spike's hand clamped around his neck.

"Taking money from people in the name of the guys who returned from war? Not cool, Colin. Not cool at all!"

"No! Spike, I'm – I'm just . . ."

"Colin!" A crisp voice cut through the air and Spike turned to see an older gentleman, obviously ex-military, standing behind him.

"Hello, Grandfather," replied Colin, as Spike's stranglehold eased.

"Any trouble, Colin?" asked the man, eyeing Spike beadily.

"No, sir. He's just an American. You know what they're like, sir, always trying to prove the point about who won what." Colin rolled his eyes theatrically.

"An American, eh?" said the old man, gruffly. "Yes, well, we couldn't have done it without you chaps, could we, but that doesn't mean you have to rub it in all the time!" He harrumphed, turned sharply and marched off.

"My grandfather makes me sell poppies every year," explained Colin to Spike. "It's not something I'm proud of, but I'm scared to death of the man. Look at him! It's a nice little money spinner for the veterans. I'm thinking of trying to implement something similar in future for . . ." he broke off at Spike's look. "Never mind." He plucked a poppy from the tray. "Here, Spike. Have one of these."

"Thanks," Spike took the poppy and pinned it to his jacket.

"Er, Spike . . ." Colin tapped the tin. "They're not free."

"Oh, right." Spike fumbled some loose change into the tin. Colin looked disappointed.

"Is that all the war veterans mean to you, Spike? 40p?"

"All right, all right!" Spike pushed a pound coin into the tin. "Happy?"

Colin smiled and nodded.

"You're very good at this, you know," Spike said. Colin grinned.

"I know. Why do you think he gets me to do it? I outsell everyone in the district by 150 poppies a year!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Later that night, Spike and Lynda were in the newsroom, going over Spike's feature.

"It's really not bad as it is," said Lynda. "If you ignore the atrocious spelling and hideous grammar."

"Thanks, Boss, that means a lot," Spike grinned.

Lynda finished marking up the draft and capped her red pen. "Well, that's me done. You just need to type it up and give it to Graphics tomorrow before final paste-up."

"Sure thing," Spike took the corrected paper and put it in his in-tray. "So, what are your plans for this evening?"

"Plans? Spike, it's 10.30. My plans involve a hot water bottle and bed."

"Sounds good to me," replied Spike, cheerfully. "When are we off?"

Lynda groaned. "Don't you ever stop?" she asked wearily.

"Nope. You should know that by now," Spike yawned and stretched and in doing so, noticed a light still shining from Colin's office. "Hey is Colin still here?"

"I don't think so," replied Lynda. "I haven't seen him since he left for the war memorial which, I must say, is one of the bigger surprises I've had this week."

"I'll go have a look," Spike rose and walked across the office, opening the door to the headquarters of CM Enterprises and going inside. The door swung shut behind him. After a second, Lynda heard Spike call out.

"Hey, Lynda! Open the door, it's deadlocked or something from the outside."

Lynda toyed briefly with the idea of letting him think she'd left the building but decided against it.

Opening the door she found Spike going through one of Colin's boxes.

"Look at this stuff. Can you believe what garbage he sells?"

"More to the point, can you believe people buy it?" countered Lynda, picking up one of the Rubber Relaxers from the desk.

"Don't let the door . . . !" Spike shouted but it was too late. The door slammed shut again. Lynda wrenched the handle without luck.

"Great. Now what?" She flopped onto Colin's desk.

"The back door!" Spike said in relief and opened the cupboard which concealed the secret way out of Colin's office. He rattled the doorknob inside.

"Damn! Locked too." He slammed the cupboard door in frustration.

Lynda took a seat on a box which had once contained green wigs and watched Spike pace in the confined space of the office.

"Can you sit down, please? You're making me giddy," she said after about ten minutes.

"Yeah? Well, I'm not really too fond of tight spaces," said Spike. "Particularly ones that are locked!"

"Someone will let us out," said Lynda calmly.

"When? Tomorrow morning?" Spike looked agitated. "I didn't exactly plan this, you know, otherwise I would have gone to the bathroom first!"

"Here," said Lynda, tossing him an empty can of Quilla. "I won't look."

Spike eyed the hole of the can speculatively for a moment and then threw it forcefully against the wall.

"Well, don't say I didn't try and help," shrugged Lynda.

"How can you be so calm about this? No food, no warmth, no . . . amenities?" Spike asked.

"I'm quite comfortable," Lynda replied, infuriatingly.

Spike sat heavily on a box and put his head in his hands. They sat there in silence for what seemed like an age when suddenly, there came a noise from inside the cupboard. Spike leapt up, threw open the doors and grabbed Colin by the back of the coat, whose flight instincts had already kicked in and had him steered away from danger.

"Colin! Never thought I'd say this, but am I glad to see you!" shouted Spike, enveloping Colin in a hug. "You've got the keys to the door?"

"Of course," said Colin, puzzled, holding them up. Spike snatched the keys, fumbled open the lock of the office door and raced in the direction of the staff toilets.

"Not a word about this to anyone, Colin," said Lynda warningly. "Or else I'll tell them all about your charity work and no-one will ever take you seriously as a wheeler and dealer again."

Colin gulped. "Understood, Lynda."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Tiddler, did you write this note?" Kenny demanded the next morning.

Tiddler looked at the pink piece of paper Kenny was waving in her face.

"No. What is it?" She reached for the paper but Kenny snatched it back.

"What does it say, Kenny?"

"It's a note asking for a date from a secret admirer. It's not funny, Tiddler."

"Kenny, I swear, I didn't write it!"

"I know what you do, setting up people . . ."

"No, I've given that up," replied Tiddler. "I figure, if it's meant to be it will happen. Like Spike and Lynda. One day, it will all just come together."

"So who . . . ?" Kenny stared at the paper.

"Maybe you do have a secret admirer. Maybe somebody does want to go on a date with you. Have you considered that possibility?"

Kenny scoffed. "Who'd want to go on a date with a strawberry milkshake?"

"You might be surprised," said Tiddler enigmatically. "A lot of people like strawberry. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." She turned back to her typewriter so Kenny wouldn't see her grinning. As it was, he had already turned away and gone back to studying the note.

_Kenny_

_Meet me in the back booth at Czar's, 5pm tonight._

_Your secret admirer._

It was typed so in a roomful of typewriters, it would be pretty hard to narrow it down by that alone. There was a hand-drawn heart on the bottom though. Pink paper, easily accessible in the stationery cupboard. He gave it an experimental sniff. Perfumed, just slightly, as though the writer might have been wearing perfume on their wrist as they drew the heart.

"I should be a detective," he thought to himself, scanning the room. Nobody was watching. He checked his watch. 4.45pm. Well, what was the harm in ducking down to Czar's, keeping an eye on the booth and seeing if anyone showed up?

Entering the smoky café, he was surprised to see the back booth already had someone sitting there, back to him, with a large hat on.

He walked to the table in a daze to find Sam sitting there patiently.

"Hey, you made it," she smiled.

"You're my secret admirer?" he asked.

"I didn't think it was that much of a secret," Sam grinned. "Well, aren't you going to sit down?"

Anastasia, the waitress, came up to take their order.

"I'll just have a Coke," said Kenny, still in a daze.

"And I will have . . ." Sam paused and fixed Kenny with a meaningful stare. "A strawberry milkshake."

END


End file.
